


Powder

by Blucifer



Category: Stray Kids (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Bottom Chan, Changbin and Chan's ski resort date, Established Relationship, Felix goads Changbin into topping, Fireplaces, M/M, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Relationship Negotiation, Sex in front of a fireplace on a fur rug, Skiing, Switching, hot tub cuddling, kind of, top changbin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-26
Updated: 2020-01-26
Packaged: 2021-02-27 03:35:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,714
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22410379
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blucifer/pseuds/Blucifer
Summary: Inspired by Changbin and Chan's their ski date.“Hey, relax. Binnie’s gonna take good care of you, yeah?”“I know,” Chan groans in discomfort. “It’s just been awhile.”
Relationships: Bang Chan/Seo Changbin, Kim Seungmin/Lee Felix
Comments: 11
Kudos: 262





	Powder

“I feel like we’re in a snow globe.” Changbin drops his luggage onto the powdery ground. Holds his hands outward in absent minded wonder while allowing his head to fall back, tongue out. He waits patiently for one of the large, perfect flakes to fall upon his tongue. 

Honestly, Chan had the exact same thought. These flakes are special. They’re different from the heavy wet lump like flakes that fall onto pavement and turn everything slushy. They’re not quite the large, wispy, almost dandelion or cottonwood like flakes that fall from the sky, but never seem to accumulate. No, these flakes are thin, sparkling, and abundant. 

And it’s nothing short of adorable, the way that flakes collect on the lapels of Changbin’s coat and the tips of his delicate lashes. 

It’s a dangerous thought to have, mooning like that over a boy who used to be a friend. Don’t get the wrong impression, it’s not like he hates the guy. Quite the opposite. Somehow, through late night study sessions in the library stacks, nights out at bars where they never drank much and always shepherded their drunken ducklings home, nights in that always ended in way too much soju th0an necessary for a quiet night at home, Changbin wormed his way across the threshold of friend, into the hearth of _something more._

“Hey Binnie,” So he combats it the only way he knows how, packing the snow between his Isotoners and launching the snowball across the parking lot. 

Of course he smiles smugly to himself when the snow grenade explodes squarely on Changbin’s chest. 

For a moment, Chan’s foolish enough to believe that the retaliation will be simple and sophomoric. 

But the snowball lands upon his target, and Changbin’s placid, appreciative expression remains upon his face. Only when Changbin tears his gaze away and look at Chan, grinning from ear to ear, does he realize that the retaliation is going to be _deadly_. 

“Oh, I see,” the words all jumbled together like _icy._ “How it is.” Chan feels like he’s in physical pain after listening to a pun that bad, and it distracts him from the way that Changbin quickly closes the distance between. Hands loop around his middle, and even though he tries to push away it’s too late. 

Changbin dives low and pushes them both to the ground and into the snow. A fistful of cold snow goes down into his collar. 

“Ah-Changbin!” 

Flailing around in the snow, he somehow gets on top of Changbin in a way that’s completely graceless and devoid of dignity....He’s kind of definitely smashed the side of his face into the snow. 

“Okay, maybe you don’t understand,” Changbin’s all but wailing on him now, the blows absorbed by Chan’s parka. Chan tries not to think about how _cute_ he looks being held at arms distance futilely trying to beat the shit out of him. Because thoughts like that _got_ him into this mess in the first place. “Because where you’re from winter means your ballsack just gets stuck to your leg not fucking melted through, but this puffy white stuff? It’s called snow, and it’s _cold.”_

“Children,” Seungmin’s voice is brisk, just like the mountain air. “Please compose yourselves. After all, this _is_ the inaugural joint excursion between Yonsei’s Ski and Surf clubs. The future of our combined eff--” 

Felix’s voice cuts in, and not a moment too soon. Seungmin is _nice,_ but gets drunk on even the _tiniest_ sips of power. “Seungmin wait. I have an idea.” 

“Hey, what the?” From his obscured view on the ground, he can see Felix watch wrap his arms around Seungmin’s middle, strain to lift up, and then flop backwards with a pained, “ _oof.”_ Then, “okay, now i’ll make a snow angel and you do just your arms.” 

“Felix!” 

“We can make snow Moro. Like you know Mortal Kombat.” 

Felix and Seungmin’s own skirmish soon melts into sticky _smacking_ noises, and it’s enough for Changbin to call a truce. He gets off of Chan and offers him his hand, “disgusting. Kids these days have no respect you know?” 

They abandon Felix and Seungmin out front and cart their bags into the cabin. Only then does Chan step back into Changbin’s space and tilt his chin upward. There’s slight pause for a moment, only a moment, because all of this is new and they’re still figuring out what _this_ really is. But Changbin closes his eyes, and leans in like he’s going to meet him halfway. 

The kiss is fast, almost chaste, but Chan still responds, “none at all.” 

* * *

Changbin, having a flair for the dramatic, and the black card to back it up, is wearing this retro inspired snowsuit. The design has erratic squiggles drawn in fat turquoise and skinny purple like those disposable cups, or the uninspired headers you see slapped onto vaporware Soundcloud pages. 

And even though he sticks out like a sore thumb, he fails to look frumpy even through layers and layers of down. Suit cinched tight, he shows off his slim waist and broad shoulders. 

Chan wraps his arm around Changbin’s shoulder as they ride up on the lift. The motion is simple and automatic. 

“Ooooh,” a cat call from behind them. “Changbin and Chan sitting in a--” Jisung pauses for a moment and then hollers up at them, “ski lift!” 

“K-I-S-S-I-N” 

“You’re gonna cause an avalanche dumbass,” Changbin yells right back, lacking a certain level of self awareness. 

Chan tries to deflect. “It’s been awhile since I’ve been on the slopes. Have any pointers for me?” 

“Um yeah,” Changbin responds. “If you’re going too fast, careening towards certain death, think of me.” He gestures to his own chin, sharp and angular. “Make a pizza shape with your skis.” 

“Oh, thank you very much for that very important tip, Ski Club treasurer.” 

“I am the historian.” Changbin responds curtly. 

Although he’s taken lessons at the Olympic park in Pyeonchang just to say that he could, Seungmin selects for them a bunny slope to account for mixed company. 

And although he belongs to the _Ski Club,_ Changbin seems to take his own faux advice to heart. Changbin’s thighs tremble as he slides down the mountain at a glacial pace. 

“Changbin, what are you doing?” He asks sliding past Changbin and stopping several yards in front of him. In an almost too perfect motion, White powder billows out from underneath his ski blades. Chan pulls his reflective goggles up on his forehead. 

“I’m being a good friend Chan.” Changbin huffs. “We can’t just leave Jisung up here on the top of the mountain, that would be _rude_ to leave him to die at yeti hands _.”_

As if they’d suddenly walked into one of those cliche early 90s teen films, Jisung speeds past them on a burning orange snowboard. 

“Looks like you don’t have to be polite anymore.” It’s only when he’s right about to put his foot in his mouth that he realizes that Changbin looks genuinely distressed. “C’mon. I was hoping you could teach me a thing or two on this trip.” 

This is only confirmed when he crawl slides towards Chan, tosses his poles to the ground, and grabs onto his arm for dear life. Neglecting to pop his skis _outward,_ he continues to slide forward. Chan isn’t prepared either, and for the second time that day, Changbin sends them both toppling down into the snow. 

“Chan,” Changbin confesses with a distressed groan. “I’ve never been skiing before.” 

“You’re in the ski club!” 

“No, I pay the dues every year. That way, Seungmin has one more person on the roster, and in exchange, I get to put down that I’m the club historian on my resume.” 

He kind of gets it. His first couple of years he bounced around student groups just for the free pizza. But given just how miserable Changbin seems on skis, one question lingers in his mind. “So why now?” 

“Can I tell you something?” 

“Kind of a captive audience here.” In fact, he’s acutely aware of Changbin’s elbow digging into one or more of his vital organs. 

“I was thinking with my dick.” 

“Um--” 

“I just heard you were going. Seungmin said all kinds of deceptive shit like _hot tub,_ and _rustic cabin,_ and I just--” 

“You’d risk shame and bodily harm, for me?” 

“No,” Changbin _finally_ seems to understand that laying on top of him in the _snow_ is less than comfortable. He rolls of off Chan and onto the snow and then tries to will himself upward in a series of graceless wobbles and grunts. “When it counts? I have no shame.” Changbin positions himself awkwardly with his legs bent, skis angled inward. 

In another instance of perfect timing, and almost cinematic effect, Hyunjin blows past them whipping tight and blasting more powder. Changbin attempts to ski off under cover of snow. “You never saw me here,” as he slides away lethargically. 

* * *

After a few agonizing passes down the slope, Changbin’s quick to excuse himself. No one faults him, in fact, Minho tells him with a poker faced grin, “It’s cool. I’m only in surf club for the sun. I can’t swim.” 

And it turns out, there’s lots of other things, distinctly different, but equal parts kitschy and humiliating, to do at the resort. He could drop another 250,000 won on a holographic puffer coat, if he tires of the monstrosity he bought for this trip. There’s a bowling alley, but he’d have to ask for bumpers. Eventually, Changbin settles on an arcade, all flashing lights and childish screams. 

For better or for worse, Felix decides to join him. 

“Okay, so you know that giant, oversized armchair in your living room?” 

Changbin gives a cursory nod. That chair is the kind of treasure that just plain old money can’t buy. It’s like, the most perfect thing ever. Seungmin’s father is a bariatric surgeon. The chair is made for the fattest of fat asses, and it's absolutely perfect for sinking into for hours, if not days at a time. Feels even better to sit in when he remembers how he and Seungmin acquired it via dubious means when Seungmin’s father was renovating his office.

“Okay, so we’re doing it like that, and I’m like balls deep inside Seungmin--” 

_Worse._ For _worse_ Felix has joined him. Because for some reason now that he’s kind of dating his best friend, Felix thinks that they can just talk about fucking all the time. 

The sheer _shock_ of what Felix has just told him causes him to lob one of the dinged, wooden balls too far, up onto the metal cage of the skee ball machine. “Fuck.” He’s not naive enough to believe that he and Seungmin _don’t_ fuck around on the common spaces. It’s just that, he likes to _read_ there. 

“I thought it was cool.” Felix responds. “Especially since Chan fucked you against the kitchen counter at our place after like what, your second date?” 

“How the hell?” 

“I fell asleep on the sofa that night.” 

“Oh, so the defiling of my _nook_ happened recently.” Changbin pumps another set of coins into the skee ball machine and waits for the tell tell _chunk-clack_ and the satisfying _clatter-roll_ of the balls. He lobs one up the ramp and watches it clank against the 10,000 point ring but never falling in. Defeatedly the ball rolls into the 1000 point slot. 

“Somehow when you say it like that it sounds dirtier. _Nook._ ” 

“Okay, its just...Not to talk about how much I have or haven’t seen your boyfriend’s dick.” A lot. The answer is a lot. You don’t just _be_ best friends figuring this shit out during high school without seeing some dick. "I just don't get it?” 

"No dude," Felix insists. "I fuck Seungmin all the time. Well not all the time. I'd say it's like seventy-forty?” 

“That’s a hundred and ten.” 

“I mean sixty-five thirty….five?" 

"The ratio doesn't matter." And to be honest, he'd like to spare his friend the mental anguish, whether it's from trying to remember how he and his boyfriend fuck or trying to figure out how to add up to one hundred. 

Felix laughs, "it's really cute. All big and floppy and half hard when I'm fucking him." His face does that thing where he practically glows when he talks about Seungmin. He's all gooey sugar smile and sparkling eyes. For fuck's sake he really hopes he never looks that stupid when he talks about Chan. 

Felix crowds into his space and picks up a ball. He lobs it upward with too much force, the ball rattles against the cage and falls onto the paltry 1,000 point ring with a _thunk._ "Oh no." 

"Here have another go." Changbin grabs the ball and hands it to Felix. 

Felix lobs another ball and then another in rapid succession up the ramp. The lights flutter, a buzzer sounds, and the machine vomits a calculated number of tickets at them. Then, its Felix's turn to pump coins into the game. _Roll-thunk._

“Even if you wanna fuck him, how do you not just look at his dick and just sit on it every time?" 

Felix takes a dinged ball and examines it closely. “I don’t understand what you don't understand. It feels nice to get your dick wet.” Felix in a single perfect fluid motion launches the ball and lands it in the 10,000 point circle. The whole machine lights up. “You know, tops can bottom a little sometimes. As a treat.” Felix's grin is so wide now that his eyes look scrunched. 

"Uh-huh.” Changbin responds with rancor in his voice. 

“Its nice. You know, this wound tight guy just lets go around me. It's like...only I get to see him like that. It's really hot." 

"Oh." And it seems so obvious now. 

Changbin launches the rest of the balls rapid fire. Two hit the cage and roll into the gutter. The other two catch in the lowest scoring bumper. His distraction this time is the vision of Chan misted in sweat, his chest flushed and red. 

Fuck. 

Felix, genuinely curious now, “I mean I know Chan really likes to top, and you _really_ like to bottom but like you guys do switch it up too right?"

"Uh, yeah." Changbin responds. "Absolutely. Totally." So he’s just a bonafide pathological liar now. First skiing, now topping, what’s next? Telling Seungmin that his grandfather invented the toaster strudel and _that’s_ where the family money comes from? All he knows for certain is that in the few brief months they’ve been dating, Chan’s always been very much in control. 

But it’s not _that_ much of a lie. Changbin’s totally fucked before. Like, when he and Hyunjin used to fool around, they’d rock paper scissors to figure out whose turn it was to fuck who. 

That makes it sound like he hated it or something. 

That's not exactly true. 

“I don’t believe you really.” 

“What’s not to believe? I’ve totally fucked Chan before.” Changbin flashes Felix his most cunning of expressions. The one that he saves for bad jokes, and failed pick up lines. There are no more dinged balls to launch up the ramp. He’s out of coins. So he waits for Felix to call the shots. Which, is total top behavior. “I mean you know. With game like this, I do it all the time.” 

He in fact, does not do it all the time. History suggests he's bad at it. There was this one time a guy practically begged him to fuck him, but had to tap out because he’d never taken anything bigger than a finger. There were plenty of times he started fucking Hyunjin and asked to trade because he got kind of bored....

“I mean, do what you like.” Felix, because he speaks his fucking language, gathers up their strands of tickets and trades them in at the counter for several packages of runts candies. Tearing the wrapper away with his teeth, he dumps the contents into his hands and holds his palm out to Changbin in offering. Changbin extracts the five or six banana pieces and leaves the orange, cherry, and lime shapes for Felix. “It’s just--” 

Jealousy doesn’t exist in their group, at least not for very long. The boundaries are so thin, and so plastic they always seem to snap back in place right away. But Changbin sees it for a fraction of a moment in time. The smile purposefully plastered across Felix’s face is interrupted by the smile that Felix can’t hide. The smile wants to tell him a secret. The smile knows something that he doesn’t. 

All of a sudden it’s like when he was in elementary school. He went on winter break and the world was normal. When he came back everyone was into Silly Bands. Everything was fine. His new...whatever...with Chan was fine. Now? Now he’s _got_ to fuck Chan. 

* * *

Changbin can’t stop thinking about what Felix said. _“Only I get to see him like that._ ” 

Admittedly, it doesn’t take much for Chan to make Changbin’s brain completely short circuit. Right now? It’s watching Chan’s arm muscles underneath the cable knit sweater he changed into after skiing. 

Something about it just does it for him. Forehead rested against his arm, he holds one arm high and braces himself. Most would see it as Chan’s distinctive brand of _effortless cool._

But Changbin sees the cracks. Chapped lips are trapped between his teeth. Blue light of the screen reflects against a slightly pinched expression. It’s like he’s written on crumpled notebook paper, “do you like me, yes, no, maybe” and he’s gathering up the courage to pass the note to Changbin. Except..They’ve been dating for what? A month or two? Yeah..for better or for worse, only he gets to see Chan like that. 

So when he’s cupping his boyfriend’s...scratch that. Chan. Just Chan. When he’s cupping Chan’s ass through his jeans he can’t help but feel it's kind of the same. No one else gets to see him like that. 

Because of that, Changbin asks the question that’s asked before the question, “ _can I fuck you tonight?”_

A quick squeeze becomes something longer, and needier. He’s pushing his luck right now, wobbling on the edge of what he and Chan feel comfortable with when they aren’t behind closed doors. How can he not?

When Chan’s bent over the Mrs. PacMan machine like that, back in a perfect arch, it makes him start thinking about things. Makes him remember exactly what Felix said. _“All big and floppy and half hard when I'm fucking Seungmin.”_

Like he was totally ready to bury it along with the thousand and one other things that he and Felix talked about that meandered in and out between banal and obscene. Like the existence of aliens, and how they fucked, and the snicker doodle cookies for sale in the convenience store, and why don’t they make snicker doodle flavored condoms, wouldn’t that be cool? 

And actually now that he thinks about it, it would be kind of cool. But Felix can go the fuck to hell, especially for being right twice in the same goddamn day. 

Cause he can just imagine it now in a perfect world where he isn’t too impatient or ill-prepared. 

Chan’s face would be buried in the crook of his arm in an attempt to hide the embarrassment in his expression. The gesture would fail horribly as he’s betrayed by his body. Mouth parted in a moan, only to be pulled tightly shut in embarrassment. 

He’d pull out right before he was about to bust and make Chan lick the snicker doodle flavored lube off of his cock. 

Changbin stands on the tips of his toes and grabs the Styrofoam cup filled to the brim with strawberry milkshake off the top of the arcade machine. Then, he takes a long pull. 

Fuck snicker doodle. Like, wouldn’t the cinnamon burn? He wants sugar cookie. 

That'd be real cool. 

For the briefest of moments, Changbin just lingers there, hand in Chan’s back pocket, groping his boyfriend's ass unashamedly. His chin rested in the crook of his neck, he watches the pixelated screen as Chan clears three blue ghosts, a pretzel, and a row of dots. 

In the corner of the screen, he notices that Chan still has two lives. Before Chan came down, he pumped like three thousand won into the machine and never made it past the orange level. 

Chan’s just much better at this kind of thing. 

It’s the kind of thing that really isn’t personal, or a challenge, but that doesn’t stop Changbin from interpreting it like that anyway. Like if it were _just_ skiing, or _just_ Ms. PacMan, or _just_ Felix silently judging him, he wouldn’t really care. But since it’s not, Changbin goes for the path of least resistance. He’s not going to get better at skiing overnight, at least not without a damn good montage. He’s not going to expend the _energy_ to get good at a game that’s like twenty years older than he is. But he can fuck right? 

Felix does it, how hard can it really be? 

With the kind of slowness that only comes from someone trying (poorly) to not get caught, he extracts his hand from Chan’s pocket, but keeps the palm flat against his ass. Tracing the curve trying slyly, but ultimately fumbling, to trace the cleft. Lower and lower, like he’s trying to ball tap him...sexily. 

As if he’s completely habituated to these kinds of strange and sudden, petulant and demanding outbursts of affection, Chan doesn’t skip a beat. He purposefully eats a larger maze dot, turning the ghosts blue. Then, and only then does he turn slightly and offer Changbin a chaste kiss upon the lips. They rely on the shallow well of the arcade cabinet to shield them from prying eyes. 

“What’s gotten into you?” 

It’s more like what _hasn’t_ gotten into Chan. "Nothin'. I just feel like we could be doin something so much better." 

“Uh-huh." Chan’s body is ember hot right now, but he crowds closer, pursing his mouth close to Chan’s ear but never quite doing anything. Just makes him feel his hot breath where he knows he’s really sensitive. “Were you doing anything that interesting before?” Changbin just as much hears the asymmetrical smirk in his voice as he sees it in pixel blue light. 

“Yeah. I was listening to Felix go on and on about bending Seungmin over _my_ favorite armchair and nailing him.” Deflect away from his true intent, but keep it just within reach. Like...If Chan wants it. 

The whole thing makes Chan recoil in disgust. Fumbling the joystick, he smashes Ms. PacMan directly into the red ghost. 

Chan tries to play it cool. “What would you rather be doing babe?” through gritted teeth. 

“Nuh-uh, you are not playing this one off. You should see the look on your face right now.” 

Chan switches hands so that he can wrap his arm around Changbin's waist. Another diversion tactic, one that Changbin doesn't mind so much. 

Chan doesn't seem to mind so much either, even if the maneuver costs him another life.

“Why would you put that in my mind?” 

“I don’t know. Misery loves company I guess ” 

“You know what it reminds me of?” 

Changbin offers Chan a sip of milkshake by pushing the straw closer to his mouth. “What?” 

“Ice cream? It’s so cold outside.” Chan veers the conversation off course.

“It’s the only way,” Changbin corrects. 

“It’s like when those old guys walk around naked in the gym locker room.” 

“So it makes you feel a little nauseous.” Not the direction he wanted the conversation to go, but he _went there._

"Uh-hum." 

"Fascinating. Can't look away." He wants to kiss Chan right now, but not the chaste kiss that he got moments ago. No, he wants to kiss him in the way that always _feels_ like a good idea in the moment, but _becomes_ the worst idea ever when your friends harass you for being publicly horny. 

"Yeah." 

"Kinda turned on."

"Changbin their balls sag down past their knees." 

"I like what I like." 

Chan surrenders the final Ms. PacMan to fate and not a moment too soon. “Do you _want_ to get out of here?” 

“Oh Channie, I thought you’d never ask.” 

* * *

“I told you I could do it,” Chan beams as he watches flame lap across the crumpled newspaper and up into the kindling of the fireplace. Flame soon envelops the fragrant split pine wood. “I mean, I earned all those merit badges in Cub Scouts for a reason.” 

“You were a Cub Scout?” Its weird. Getting _here_ meant talking through countless, sleepless nights with Chan. Like he knows the surface stuff about Chan, and he knows the stuff that’s deep. Those deep fears and insecurities meet surface level stuff like the fact that he knows Chan would rather die than drink Diet Pepsi over Diet Coke. But all the important stuff, like the fruit sweet and bitter is trapped in between. Little details that are made important only because of the context in which they’re uncovered. When that nectar is squeezed out, well, he feels drunk off of it, tingling and red faced. “Did you have a little uniform?” 

“Yeah.” 

“Did you bring it with you?” And he can’t even ask without laughing. 

“Absolutely. I packed my snowsuit, some clean underwear, and the Cub Scout uniform that I’m pretty sure I outgrew when I was eleven.” 

“Sexy.” 

Chan rises slowly, dims the lights, and then settles in beside him on the jet black faux fur rug that was just _made_ for fucking on. Their touch is automatic and magnetic. Changbin fits into his side just right, tucked up against Chan’s chest. 

And as they sit opposite the red brick hearth with their backs pressed up against the base of the sofa and watch the crackling flame, Changbin can’t help but think that the whole scene is like one of those crappy Hallmark movies that Jisung makes him watch continuously between late October and early January. 

Chan grabs his ceramic mug from off the end table and takes a long draught from his hot chocolate. The gesture suggests he’s trying to think of something to say, or maybe he’s trying to think of _the right_ thing to say. Because even though their unholy combination of Swiss Miss packets, soy milk, and cinnamon schnapps is shamefully delicious, he’s never really known Chan to overindulge in either sugar or alcohol. “You are.” 

“Yeah I know,” but bite in his voice doesn’t stop him from preening at the attention. 

Then nothing. No feisty retort, no additional prompt to move the conversation further. Just him and just Chan staring at each other with big dumb eyes waiting. Maybe not for the other to make the first move, but waiting for those little signs that lets the other person know _it’s not all in my head._ Chin turned inward, closed mouthed smile, and heavy lidded eyes. Yeah, like that. Just how Chan is doing. 

Chan breathes out in an almost silent sigh at the same time he breathes in, ready to hold his breath, ready to take the plunge. And it’s strange, how something so simple as breathing mirrors their relationship perfectly. 

Chan has to lay everything out all at once. _Exhale._ Only then will Changbin hold his breath and risk drowning. 

When they kiss, its not like snapping the pulled taut string of tension; it’s like getting back on a bicycle after a long time. Knowing exactly what to do, and still not exactly knowing _how_ to do it. Their lips misalign, Chan’s lower lip caught in the seam between his own Nudge-nose-bump and readjust and then they’re kissing for real, all hot breath. 

When they part, Chan doesn’t initiate another kiss right away. Strangely, neither does he. Like they jammed the rewind button again and they’re back at square one. He’s looking at Chan look at him, waiting, waiting, waiting, for a sign. 

Chan takes the half empty mug of hot cocoa from Changbin’s hands, and exiles both to the end table near the sofa once more. 

Readjust. Changbin’s almost sitting in Chan’s lap his legs thrown over his hips. 

This kiss is just as cloying as the first, literally and figuratively. They both taste of thick artificial everything: milk, cocoa, and cinnamon. This time, Chan slides his tongue across the seam of his mouth, and it’s easy to tell that he’s being tested. No sooner than he allows Chan access to his mouth, he retreats. Changbin follows, lapping his own tongue at Chan’s mouth in response without breaking the kiss. 

“There’s something that you’re not telling me,” Chan informs him. His voice husky, almost needy already. As if he wants to interrogate him, shake down the answer from him, Chan places an exploratory kiss on his neck. Then, experimental pressure with his lips. With it comes the silent threat of tongue and teeth. He hoists Changbin up into his lap fully. “Or is it something you want to do?” 

Another kiss, this one asks no questions, and begs no permission. It’s hungry, demanding, sudden as tongue and lips become trapped between teeth. “I can tell when we kiss...when something’s on your mind.” 

And it rubs him the wrong way, just a little bit, like running his hand against the grain on soft velvet. It insinuates that he isn’t attentive, or that he's distracted. And that isn’t the case at all. It’s methodical, and rigorous, the way that Changbin works to identify the pattern and a way to break it without disrupting the flow for the sake of being different. 

And Chan has to understand that. 

Changbin splays his palms wide across Chan’s chest. The pads of his fingers catch against charcoal colored cable knit and grope hungrily against thick muscle. Each touch, a strange mixture of demanding and tentative. Worshipful and defiling. And it feels damn good when these efforts have an effect on Chan. Neck rolled back, open and offering his body to Changbin. Breath hitching when his fingers brush against his nipples even through thick fabric. 

Chan’s always been so sensitive. 

Changbin kisses Chan again, and yeah, sure...In some ways, it’s just a facsimile of how Changbin _thinks_ it should be done. A poor imitation of the kisses that Chan gives him that are just the correct balance of smoldering and gentle. And no, it doesn’t feel a hundred percent right. 

Maybe that’s what Chan was talking about when he said he could tell when something was on his mind. 

Chan’s never really been particularly _good_ at saying no to him. He brought him egg drop soup in the middle of a snow storm when he was sick. Helped him move...Hell, he carried up the armchair, the defiled fuck armchair, to the new place with Seungmin. And fuck, that was _before_ he started hitting it. 

Plain and simple. Chan wants him. He can feel it pressed against his ass through thick denim. 

So all he’s really got to do is ask. 

“Can I fuck you?” 

“Oh Binnie,” In the contrast between darkness and orange firelight, Chan’s features are exaggerated. His smile, lopsided, almost drunken. He uses his own words from earlier against him, “I thought you’d never ask.” 

They shift again upon the rug, this time, with more effort, more confusion. Changbin slides off of Chan’s lap, and tries to pull Chan on top. “What are you doing?”

“I want you to sit in _my_ lap,” and he can’t fucking help how whiny his voice sounds. Rearrange, and Changbin pulls Chan into his lap. Giving his ass a squeeze through his jeans, Changbin kisses him the best way that he knows how. Petulant. Irascible. Biting on Chan’s lip until it’s swollen and red. Until he’s whimpering into a viscous wet kiss that has no end. Does it all just to feel the hitch in Chan's breath when they’re pressed chest to chest. 

Fuck. 

They need to be a thousand percent nakeder right now. His hands slide underneath thick knit and touch searing skin. Muscles flex beneath his touch. “Get this off. Now.” 

“Your wish is my command,” Chan responds fondly. “But you should do the same.” 

“Yeah.” 

They shift again. Tug furtively against denim, and writhe across the rug in an attempt to pull their pants and socks down over their ankles in one go. Cold air presses against his skin; he waits for flame heat to lap at his body and make him warm once more.

Finally naked, he can turn his attention back to Chan. “Oh my god.” 

Chan looks like something out of a pin-up magazine right now. So the Hallmark Channel movie meets PornHub’s latest upload page. Sitting naked on faux fur, leaned back and resting on his elbows, he acts like he’s been waiting like this all night for Changbin. His pale skin contrasts so nicely with the ember glow of firelight as if luxurious liquid gold had been spilled between his dusky nipples, down his stomach and his hips. 

Changbin’s own cock feels thick in his hand now, and he can’t help but stroke it boldly, unashamedly. In that moment, he’s acutely aware of the heat of the fire against his chapped, windburned lips. His lips have have fallen open as he stares in wide eyed wonder at the scene that unfolds before him. 

“Changbin, please--” 

“No, come here."

What happens next...Fuck if jaw was dropped before, its unhinged like an anaconda’s now. 

Chan crawls upon all fours closing the distance between them settling right in front of where Chan kneels. It’s easy to see what he wants, but it’s nice when he says it anyway. “Wanna suck your dick.” 

Who is he to tell Chan no? 

Contrasted against the shadow and the flame, his body creates such a wonderful silhouette as he kneels before Changbin, back arched, ass raised high ready, hungry for his cock.

Chan takes him by the base and submerges the tip of his cock into his mouth. No teasing kisses against his thigh, no soft kitten licks, no teasing. Just want. Slow and deliberate, the way that Chan lavishes his cock with attention at the tip and the ridge. 

Quickly Changbin becomes greedy. Threads his fingers through Chan’s hair and rolls his hips desperate to fuck into his mouth. 

And because Chan has a difficult time saying no to Changbin, he complies. Swallows him down deeper until he can _feel_ Chan’s throat muscles constrict around his cock. 

For a fraction of a second, Changbin thinks that _maybe_ he should pull back, but no. For some reason, whether it’s reps at the gym, how fast they can race up a flight of steps, or sucking cock, everything between them becomes a dare. Feeding their innate competitive drive while pushing each other to do better, it’s part of the reason why they work so well. Chan tries again, swallowing his cock down, daring Changbin to buck against his plush lips. 

So he does, because it feels good. 

Over and over and over again in time with the flicks of Chan’s tongue against his ridge and his slit. Over and over, until he’s played with fire for too long and is about to let Chan set him ablaze. 

Like dousing him in gasoline, Chan massages his balls against the calloused palm of his hand. Changbin knows that they must feel so heavy drawn up tight near his body. And as good as this feels it _has_ to end. Now. 

“Hey,” he tugs at the roots of Chan’s hair gently now. 

Chan looks up at him, _shit_. He looks so pretty with his mouth full of cock, waiting for instruction, eyes watery. 

Changbin grabs his dick by the base and pulls out of Chan’s mouth slowly. Watches intently as his cheeks bulge around his cock and a thin strand of saliva, barely caught in firelight, stretches and connects Chan’s lower lip to the tip of his cock. 

“It’s your turn now,” stammering out the words because how the hell can he top something like that? 

“Do you want to watch me finger myself?” 

“No.” Changbin understands what he’s doing. Giving him an out. Giving him an option to let Chan take care of everything even though he’s gonna be the one getting fucked. He doesn’t like the idea. “I want--Do you have any stuff?” 

Unapologetically coquettish, “wait, you came on this trip thinking with your dick, but you didn’t bring anything?” 

Heat, not from the fire, but from second guessing himself, pools in his cheeks. He responds, not with words but the intense kind of stare that people rarely question. “I’m not above rifling through Seungmin’s shit.” 

“Nah, I got it.” Tucked between the sofa and an armchair, up underneath an end table, but not so far from reach, Chan reaches into his Adidas duffel bag. He’s just effortlessly stylish like that. From it, he extracts the kind of lube and condoms that _aren’t_ 5,000 won pharmacy bullshit. _Are_ the kind of thing bought by people who know what they’re doing. 

* * *

He pulls Chan back into his lap. 

He likes it like this, because they can match one another. Chest pressed to chest, breath for breath, he can touch all of him, kiss all of him. Because if he isn’t scratching ugly red marks down Chan’s back, maybe it will be Chan doing the same to him and he wants that very much. 

Changbin looks at Chan with hazy eyes that crackle with static confusion like he doesn’t know what to do. After all, if he had to think about a ratio like Felix’s yes, he’d be looking at lottery odds.

But that’s an oversimplification of a much more complicated truth. Chan seems to understand this. Dares him, “C’mon Changbin, finger me like you finger yourself on Snapchat.” Because Changbin knows _exactly_ what he’s doing. Changbin’s shown him on nights that they were too busy to see each other in person; Chan knows _exactly_ what he’s capable of. 

And it kind of makes his chest puff up with pride. Yeah Chan might be the best lay he’s ever had, told him as much, but it doesn’t go to head. Doesn’t make Chan feel like he knows more about what Changbin likes than he does himself. 

“Like I do?” He’s never been one to turn down a dare, especially when it’s Chan issuing the call. So, he squeezes firm muscle and smacks Chan’s ass in a way that totters on the edge between playful and painful. “Do you think you can handle that?”

“Hm,” Chan encourages, almost automatically. 

So Changbin races to meet him where he is. Presses his fingers not against his hole, but at that place _in between._ That place is first found accidentally when jerking off is nice, but isn’t nearly enough. In pressing that spot, everything suddenly makes sense again. 

Chan’s moan is tinged with surprise as if he’d had the map of his body memorized, but only remembered the shortcuts. Changbin takes the longer path, and finds this place all over again. 

Not feather light, not irritating, somewhere in between. Something to make him want more. Changbin drags his viscous lube slick fingers across the smooth skin of Chan’s balls. Has he ever noticed, ever realized, ever mentioned, how delicious and infuriating it is how smooth Chan is all the time. 

His fingers fall back, back to where they’re supposed to go. Brushing his finger against the sensitive skin before he asks for confirmation, “Yeah?” 

Their lips meet again, like a piece of putty pressed against a warm marshmallow. Melted meets melted. Sloppy, open mouthed, something transcends the expression of need and simply admits desperation. Honest at last, it’s hard to peel away from one another. 

“Yeah.” 

His fingers are so slick that it glides across, and much to his satisfaction, Chan shivers into the touch. 

When he presses inside, he’s met with so much resistance. Chan clenches down before he’s into the first knuckle. 

“Hey,” another kiss. “Relax. Binnie’s gonna take good care of you, yeah?” 

“I know,” Chan groans in discomfort. “It’s just been awhile.” He’s so used to being the one who can talk a big game and can’t _quite_ back it up. He can’t help but smile at Chan. 

“What do you like?” But he already kind of knows. Even guys that won’t moisturize their face _because it’s gay_ love having their perineum massaged. So he moves his fingers there. Manipulating the skin, he alternates between firm, constant touches and deep pressure. 

Response hitched in his breath, mouth agape, Chan is such a goddamn vision looking down at Changbin through lidded eyes. “That. I really like that.” 

“I can tell.” So for a moment, all Changbin does is indulge him. More rubbing, more kissing. Gives him more time to figure it out. Then, “we need to move.” 

“Huh?” 

“Lay on your back.” 

So they shift again, Chan on his back, pale skin contrasting with dark faux fur. “You like it so much the other way.” Chan notes. Yeah, they sit in the armchair, the defiled armchair, in his apartment and do it like that all the time. 

“You can jerk off like this.” 

“Oh,” 

“Yeah, that’s what I always did when I first started fucking. It’s a real good distraction.” 

Chan lets his legs fall to either side, parting himself wide so that Changbin can settle in between. As Chan teases himself in long, firm strokes, Changbin watches as pre-cum pools at the tip. Watches the way that his stomach flutters, and his lower lip, like a favorite passage in a dogeared paperback, becomes trapped between his teeth. 

Only then does Changbin apply pressure once more. There’s still resistance, still an automatic, panicked responses as his body tightens around the intrusion, but it isn’t so severe this time. 

That’s right. Why settle for fucking Chan when he’s half hard and floppy when he can have him aching and begging? 

“You know what else I like?” 

“What?” Talking makes him less tense. Changbin’s able to work his finger in deeper, past the second knuckle. 

“I used to know someone who had one of those massagers.” 

“I have one.” Keeps it in the Air Force 1 box underneath his bed along with a half dozen other things that would make Chan blush deeper than he is now. “We can use it sometime.” 

“Yeah--ah.” 

When Chan seems relaxed, when he’s fucking up into his own hand and grinding against his finger, Changbin adds a second. 

“Oh--ah-” He’s caught between wanting more, and feeling like things are moving too fast. Changbin knows that feeling well. Goes through it every single time he wants to get Chan’s dick inside of him as quickly as possible. It’s the kind of thing that’s easily soothed away by a bite to his inner thigh. Burying his face between Chan’s legs, he’s able to lap at his balls, and lick up the base to the tip. 

“You good?” 

Sometimes Chan will do this to him, just to make him crazy. 

Now, now it actually serves some purpose, unlike Chan’s particular preference for velvet lined cruelty. Chan opens up against his fingers, and that’s when he’s able finger Chan just like he fingers himself. Curls his fingers against pliable skin and alternates between motions that apply pressure directly to his prostate and motions that stretch him out and make him feel fuller. The very best of everything, alternating just quickly enough to make him want more. 

“So-oh good Changbin.” 

And fuck--Forget the cute, almost delicate little bead of pre-cum on the crown of Chan’s cock because it’s been replaced now by a viscous stream. Changbin laps at the tip of his cock now too, because it isn’t enough just to hear Chan yell his name. He wants to know that he wants it too. 

“Real good. Oh--Fuck.” Get him almost there so that he has to ask, “Hey.” He makes Chan thread his fingers through his hair and tug, “stop.” 

Changbin pulls off with a _pop._ “And do what?” 

“Put it in me, fuck.” 

Changbin stumbles for a condom. Does all the kinds of things they tell you _not_ to do, like tearing open the packet with his teeth and setting it against the tip of his cock the wrong way the first time. Flipping it over, and getting it right, he rolls the thin barrier over his cock. 

“Okay.” 

* * *

Changbin looks at him the way that he often does when he’s completely overwhelmed and needs a moment to synthesize everything around him. His lips parted, his tongue rests against his lower lip. His cock is heavy between his legs and covered in a condom ready to go. 

“Okay.” 

In the dark, he can’t see every firm line of muscle, but he feels it against his fingers when Changbin climbs on top of him. The fine fur rug tickles his back and caresses his skin, and god does he love the contrast to Changbin’s hard body. 

In that moment, he’s reminded that Changbin always wins at arm wrestling, and Changbin can pick him up like he’s nothing. Changbin’s got his arms pinned to the rug up over his head, and it’s hotter than he ever thought it could be. 

Because he chases that strength, that force, he tests Changbin, fighting against his strength. Changbin doesn’t waver, not for a second. He keeps kissing him through it all like it’s nothing letting the rustling sounds, the furtive noises of protest that Chan makes get covered up by the staccato smacking sounds of kissing. 

“I’m gonna,” growled roughly into his ear in the voice that Changbin uses for Soundcloud but never graces him with in real life. 

“Do it.” Then, because Changbin seems to like it. “Please.” 

Changbin releases him, only to guide his aching hard cock into Chan’s hole. 

Latex catches against skin. More lube is added, and then he presses inside, and it creates that visceral combination of glide-wet and friction that he’s so used to feeling from the opposite side. Maybe it’s comforting to be reminded that it’s just as infuriating this way. 

Because it stings, sharp and bodily, but it feels so good. Not in his cock but just below his bellybutton. _Inside._

“Fuck,” For a moment, all they can do is slide against one another. Changbin pushes his legs back and pins him to the rug. Sweat slicked foreheads slip-slide against each other, their noses bump, and finally, finally, they kiss once again. In that moment, when he’s stretched and aching, he’s aware of just how sore his lips are from kissing. “You’re so tight. God, I can feel everything.” 

“You’re really big,” the compliment is earnest and overexcited, but Changbin laps it up as if it were honey. 

Pleasure builds up slower this way. Pain fades away to warmth. Changbin moves, and for awhile,Changbin’s cock _just_ feels okay. Feels okay while Changbin pants against and grunts against his ear. Then, then, Changbin’s cock feels _so_ good. It happens suddenly. It happens comfortably, as if that glowing sensation had always been there. His pleasure ratchets higher, and higher without him even realizing. 

But Changbin seems like he’s going to drown in it. The noises that he makes are raw and unashamed. He fucks into him with wild, shameless strokes. The sharp slap of skin against skin is deafening. His body is fire hot, meets sex hot and everything feels like too much. 

“Oh fuck, Chan.” _There it is._ “Oh, fuck, I’m sorry.” 

“No, I’m close too.” 

“Can’t help it.” Changbin buries himself deep and twitches inside signifying his own orgasm. 

“Stay inside,” 

Changbin makes a whining noise of protest, but listens. Desperately, he ruts against Chan to give those last few thrusts before he gets soft, even if he’s overstimulated. His hand joins Changbins on his cock, and together they jerk until he’s cumming in thick white bursts. 

Until their lips meet once more in one final, hungry kiss. 

* * *

“Oh, it’s so cold!” Changbin pouts, crowding into his space. He’s wearing a plush robe that he was cheeky enough to bring from home. Chan, because he’s a pragmatist, shuffled back into his sweat pants; because he’s a gentleman he went outside first to take the cover off of the hot tub. 

“Just hurry,” he calls to Changbin as he tears off his own clothing and sinks into the warm water. 

Changbin follows him into the water, “Oh, that’s so hot.” 

“It’s nice.” Heat pools in his toes and the tips of his fingers, and all the little places in his body where winters’ chill had made its home. Chan welcomes that sudden, overwhelming heat. It rests just behind his forehead, and becomes all that he can think about. 

There’s plenty of soreness in his body from the day out on the slopes, but unlike his shoulders and his calves, and his feet, that little bit of soreness between his legs is something like a secret. Something that hot water won’t wash away. 

Backlit by the moon, Chan takes in the beautiful sight of Changbin’s silhouette. Every inch of him is sculpted, not divot or crest out of place.

In the backdrop, there are a thousand or more stars visible out in the sky, free of light pollution. 

Should Chan wish upon one? 

Or does he have exactly what he wants right here? 

Chan raises his arms with a trickle and whirl sound of the water “It feels better if you just get all the way in,” as he pulls Changbin down into his lap. 

“Hey,” but as always Changbin talks a big game and puts up zero fight. Chan wraps his arms around Changbin’s middle, and pulls him down into the water. He nuzzles the nape of his neck, even if it means breathing in deeply the strong chemical scent of chlorine. 

“That was fun.” 

“Yeah.” 

“It made me think. There’s a lot we’ve yet to do.” 

“Yeah, I liked that more than I thought I would.” Changbin shifts in his lap. 

Chan pushes his hair away from his face. Changbin’s expression is unclear in the darkness, but he’s never been particularly easy to read. “You haven’t--?” 

“I have,” Changbin corrects. “That just might be the first time that didn’t suck.” 

It resonates with him, “yeah, same. Like when I lost my virginity in high school or whatever...I thought it was gonna be like in erotica. Everyone knows what they’re doing and uses enough lube.”

“What kind of erotica?” Changbin laughs before he even manages to crack the joke that bubbles on his tongue, “The kind with Sasuke and Naruto?” 

“Yeah.” Chan admits with a shameful laugh. 

“That’s really lame,” Changbin responds. Then, as if his own judgements don’t apply to him. “We’re kind of like that.”

“Like Naruto and Sasuke?” 

“You know, eager, kind of annoying lovable hero. Brooding, misunderstood, antagonist.” 

“Actually--” 

“Anyway,” Changbin abruptly changes the subject. It’s something that he does whenever he knows he’s on the cusp of being wrong. “What should we try next?” 

“What all haven’t we done?” Chan squeezes Changbin’s thigh in question. 

“Blindfolds,” Changbin responds almost too quickly. 

“Noted.” Chan says. “Dress up.” They interrupt each other with kisses, just because they can. 

“Boy Scout uniform,” Changbin corrects. “Outside.” 

“Sex in public.” Their playful, post sex kisses are traded for something that lingers. Something that needs. 

“We’re kind of in public right now.” How the hell they were able to have sex in the cabin common area without Felix, Seungmin, and the rest storming back in is beyond him completely. “And we’re definitely outside.” In that moment, he’s acutely aware of his cock twitching back to life against the cleft of Changbin’s ass. “I think it would be a really hot thing to do with my boyfriend.” 

They’ve been dancing around it for days now. Maybe weeks. Blame it on schnapps, or afterglow, but he’s gonna risk it all. 

“I would do that,” Changbin admits, pushing back against Chan’s cock. “With my boyfriend.” 


End file.
